


don't (not again)

by fuckingkinney



Category: Shameless (TV), Shameless (US)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-09
Updated: 2013-04-09
Packaged: 2017-12-08 00:56:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/755108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fuckingkinney/pseuds/fuckingkinney
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just lets his thoughts scream and fill up in his head until he's left doing nothing but sitting there, a burned up cigarette blistering his fingers and tears leaking over his hands and down his arms.</p>
<p>Keeps crying until slowly sadness turns into anger.</p>
<p>Until anger leads to him destroying everything around him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	don't (not again)

“You’re a fucking pussy.”

Mickey doesn’t do anything, doesn’t deny it. Can’t deny it because it’s true. 

He couldn’t stop Ian, couldn’t say what he needed to make him stay. What does that make him?

Pathetic. 

So fucking pathetic that it's sickening. Terry was right; he wasn't anything, would never be anything.

So instead, he just sits there and lets it dawn upon him what just happened: 

1) Mandy knows.  
2) Ian is leaving him.

Not leaving him – leaving everyone. Isn’t coming back for four years, doesn’t even mean that he’ll come back once those four years are up. Just means that he’s leaving.. To go to the fucking army.

Mickey doesn’t know when he starts crying, knows he can’t stop it as he presses the balls of his palms into his eyes and prays for it to stop. To stop making him so pathetic, but it doesn’t listen to him. He doesn’t listen to himself. 

Just lets his thoughts scream and fill up in his head until he's left doing nothing but sitting there, a burned up cigarette blistering his fingers and tears leaking over his hands and down his arms.

Keeps crying until slowly sadness turns into anger.

Until anger leads to him destroying everything around him.

Mickey can't find himself to care, can't find himself seeing anything past the red that's clouding his vision as he tears things off the wall viciously. As he smashes the lamp next to his bed onto the floor before tipping his bed over.

As everything becomes a blur and all he can do it fight his way out of it until there's nothing to fight against and he slumps on the floor, head in his hands and tears not fucking _stopping_.

* * *

Mandy comes back home a while later, looks down at him in the same position on the floor with a look that's too fucking close to sympathy for Mickey to handle.

But she doesn't say anything, just huffs a sigh and helps him tidy the mess he'd made before Terry came back.

"You're still a fucking pussy." She mumbles as she walks out and all Mickey can do is nod numbly in reply.

* * *

Mickey rings him the next day, hasn't slept the whole night and decided that getting drunk as humanly possible was the better idea.

Can't find a bad flaw in his plan as he jabs Gallagher's number into his phone with a blurred thought that he shouldn't know it off by heart that easily.

"Why'd you do it? Why did you have to _do this_?!" He doesn't care that he's yelling into the phone, doesn't care that Terry and his fucking wife are still asleep. Probably together, that sick cunt. "Why did you have to leave of all fuckin' things? We cou-- This could have worked. You didn't have to leave.. Why did you _leave_ me here? With her.. With him."

Wasn't even aware that he was sobbing again until he couldn't form words, just made wounded noises into the phone until sense drawed him in.

He dropped the phone instantly, staring at it with wide eyes and nausea sinking in.

Mickey didn't give it a second thought as he slammed his foot onto the device, not finding it within him to stop until it were truly smashed into pieces that'd he'd have to pick up when he wasn't convincing himself that it was all an illusion.

He hadn't just done that.

Ian would never hear his words.

It was all an illusion.

* * *

Mickey didn't do much after that. 

He got punched in the face by Lip Gallagher one day, Mickey didn't really know which one it was now they all blurred together, but he didn't do anything in retaliation. Just groaned on the floor as Lip told him what a piece of shit he was.

Mickey couldn't exactly disagree with that.

He quit the Kash & Grab, reminded him too much of Ian. Linda glared at him as if it were his fault Ian left without telling anyone.

That little prick.

Left without a god damn word to anyone apart from _him_ then blamed him. Or at least everyone else did. Mickey blamed himself.

Mickey couldn't stop him, would have been able to if he weren't such a pussy.

So with nothing to do, he turned to drugs, didn't care that it was meth and that it'd been the reason that his mom had died after Terry got her hooked on it.

Didn't care that most of his thoughts were silent hope that the same would happen to him.

Then one day, Svetlana walked on with a scowl on his face and shoved papers at him, arms folding over her chest and foot tapping against the floor in a noise that made Mickey want to punch her in the face. Not that he ever did - he wasn't Terry, never would be.

Unfolding the paper with a mumble, Mickey paused at the sight infront of him.

Divorce papers. Fucking already signed.

His eyes snapped to the brunette and in return she simply arched an eyebrow and Mickey couldn't stop the laugh that ripped out of him loudly. Hadn't laughed for so long and suddenly he couldn't stop it. Not even when he dropped his joint, not when the Russian stared at him as if he was insane. Laughed until his sides ached.

In the end, he signed it and watched as she left, taking everything with her as if the last few months hadn't happened.

Mickey didn't think he'd ever forget them.

* * *

Terry found out too quickly afterwards, which was fun. If fun meant nearly being beaten to death by your father for the second time in just over a year.

[Mickey walked in, cigarette dangling between his lips and heading for his room when suddenly Terry was there, crowing into his space and Mickey didn't know what had happened. Doubted he wanted to know until Terry snarled and shoved him against the door frame by the collar of his jumper.

"What the fuck did you do?" He yelled at him and it dawned on him.

Fuckin' hookers.

"Didn't fuck her."

And Mickey had laughed again, unable to stop it from slipping out until it was too late. Probably should have seen the first blow to the face after that, should have realized that he wasn't going to get away without anything broken.]

* * *

He'd left that night, Mandy at his side even though he didn't know why. Didn't care as long as they both got out of there.

"You sure you wanna do this?" He asked her, ignoring the glare he got in response as he shoved clothes into the bag on his bag.

"Quit fuckin' asking me that and hurry the hell up." Was the only response he got as Mandy walked off to grab her own.

* * *

Mickey dealed again after that for a while, nearly two years, despite picking up three different jobs; two in shitty shops like the Kash & Grab (without the risk of being shot) and one in a bar that barely anyone went to. Not that he was complaining, still got paid for it.

Mandy worked at a cinema, managed to actually graduate from school as the first Milkovich to ever do so. And the first Milkovich to not get put into prison at least once by her age.

Mickey would never admit he was proud by it, didn't want her choosing the same shitty path he had because that was what he needed to do. Mandy could do whatever she wanted; wasn't the shiniest apple of the bunch but wasn't the dullest either.

They celebrated, if that's what it could be called. 

They both got high and Mickey attempted to make a cake, only for it to burn to fucking shit and Mandy to make another for herself. It wasn't a bad night, had been the best one that Mickey had in nearly three years.

* * *

Mickey didn't know how he didn't see it coming once four years were over. Didn't know why he didn't see it coming. 

It should have been so obvious and yet when he opened the door of his and Mandy's flat to come face to face (well, face-to-shoulders) with Ian, he went into melt down again.

Before being able to really stop himself, Mickey had punched him in the face and slammed the door before all but fleeing to his bedroom.

"Who the fuck was that?" Mandy asked, beer in hand and a frown on her face.

Mickey didn't answer, snagged the rest of the case out of the fridge before locking himself in the bathroom in time to hear the door open.

He'd never admit that he spent the next two hours downing alcohol, listening as Mandy and Ian laughed in the living room as if the last four years hadn't happened.

Would admit that he hoped Gallagher still bruised as easily as he did four years ago.

* * *

It was less than a week later before Mickey came into contact with Ian again, in his own fucking flat again.

He tugged the door of his room open, already mumbling that it was too early to be awake. Hadn't slept until four after being at the bar, needed to get to work in less than two hours from now and realized that he needed to actually be fully awake to deal with people. 

Grunting at Mandy as he rubbed his eyes, he padded bare foot into the kitchen before fumbling with the buttons of the coffee machine. He was going to smash that stupid piece of shit one day.

"Going out!" The voice made him cringe, only lifting a hand in a mock of a wave as Mandy's heels clicked against the floor until the front door slammed.

Mickey huffed a sigh of relief, elbows planting on the counter top and face burying into his hands as he waited impatiently for it to be done. How long did it take to make fucking coffee? Might as well as gone to that sh--

"You gonna punch me again or are you actually going to talk to me this time?"

Mickey jerked up so fast he almost smashed his head on one of the cupboards, spinning around to stare at Ian fucking Gallagher. With a bruise covering his right eye.

Fucking good.

Yet all he could gape, eyes narrowing. 

"How the fuck did you get in my flat?" He snarled, all too prepared to punch him again. Probably should have by now, creepy bastard.

"Mandy let me in earlier, been here for.. about an hour now?" The smirk on his face only got smugger.

Mickey's need to punch it off only got larger.

"Look, I don't know what you want but you can go and fuc---"

Never would he admit that he groaned when Ian kissed him. Would never admit that he held onto his hair instantly and fought with the urges to both tug it furiously and hold onto it until Ian agreed to never leave again.

* * *

They fucked on his kitchen floor. Ian on his back and Mickey riding him like some sort of desperate whore. 

Afterwards, Mickey had fumbled out that he needed to go to work and escaped from his own damn flat. Ignored the weird looks he got from his boss as he turned up over half an hour early, still not able to breathe right.

* * *

They carried on like that for a while afterwards, fucking in random places across his house after Mandy 'magically' disappeared or decided to go out for no fucking reason.

Not that Mickey could complain - good sex and actual groceries in the house. He'd be a fucking idiot to complain.

Until suddenly it wasn't just fucking and Mickey didn't know what to do. Couldn't exactly shove Ian off him half way through and wait for his hard on to leave.

He didn't know how he hadn't realized between the fact that they were face to face for once, in an actual bed. Ian rocking into him as it they had all the time in the world and his lips marking him like a bitch. Fingers entwined and pinned against either side of Mickey's head as his legs locked behind the ginger's lower back.

The shame of it all?

Mickey had never cum so hard before in his life.

* * *

"They want me to go back." Ian told him just after an hour had gone by.

An hour of either speaking and refusing to acknowledge what had just happened, smoking a joint and not mentioning how their thighs were pressed too close together.

Mickey froze, silently thanking whatever was above that he hadn't taken a drag or he'd be choking like a fucking idiot right now.

He turned to look at the taller of the two, blinking at him. Had he just--

"Don't." He responded, voice low. 

It felt like DeJa Vu. He just waited for Ian to laugh at him and walk out again, but he didn't, just stared back at him with a blank face. Mickey wanted to throttle emotion out of him; something, anything..

"Why not?" 

And Mickey dropped his gaze then, felt like he was suffocating as he took another overly calm drag of the joint between his fingertips before handing it to the redhead.

"Because I don't want you to leave again." 

Felt like he was being choked to death, felt like he might aswell do it to himself.. Ian wasn't going to deal with that, was going to ask for _more, more_ and then leave again when he wouldn't be abl--

"Okay."

**Author's Note:**

> idk, leave feedback.


End file.
